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S Quotes

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“She watched with amusement as Wallace paced restlessly around the overloaded settee, obviously trying to calculate how he too could sit there. "Wallace," Keir said dryly, "I dinna know where you think you'll find a blessed inch of empty space." The terrier persisted, however, hopping up near their feet and painstakingly crawling over their bodies. "Wallace will come to London with us, of course," Merritt said, reaching out swiftly to steady the dog as he wobbled.”

“She watches him walk around the room, naked apart from those silly flip-flops he's put on because his feet feel the cold. She marvels at his lack of self-consciousness. He has a good body: tall and broad with a pronounced rump and the mearest hint of a thirty-something pounch, but he appears unaware of his physicality in these moments in way that a woman never would be. A woman, Kate thinks, would be worried about her flabby belly or her wide thighs or the fact that her breasts are more saggy that she'd like and she would assume she was being monitored by the male eyes in the room. Yet Jake treats his body as his own, inhabiting it with confidence. - (Page 277)”

“She waved desperately, putting her hand out the window, but wasn't sure anyone would be able to see it. "What can I do? What can I do to show them that I'm alive?" she wailed. Pascal just looked at her. "Oh, right," she said. "Not thinking at all. Thanks, buddy." She gathered up as much of her hair as she could and flung it through the window. Hard. Like a thousand baby spiders parachuting into the sky, it glittered and sparkled-- completely unmagically, just because of the sunlight-- before falling down to hang along the wall of the tower, rippling in the wind.”

“She waved, hoping the little creatures sealed inside the glass and bone chrysalis could see her, and tried not to cry. The Beast saw her. "I'll come back. Whatever happens," he promised. "I'm... king now. I need to share the fate of my people." Somehow that only made Belle want to cry more. "You aren't out of danger yourself," the Beast reminded her gravely. "You're in the middle of the woods with a beast as the curse grows stronger. I won't be able to control it forever." Belle had a sudden vision of her body, and blood-stained snow, like something out of a fairy tale gone wrong. She shook her head. "No. You would never hurt me." The Beast gave a wan smile.... and then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "I would kill myself first," he whispered.”

“She wears it so beautifully doesn’t she, her pain… Always smiling, always positive…. always happy to help… It’s like a garment perfectly tailored to fit the way she carries it… with a touch of grace… and the quietness of that sad smile…. All so you’d never know how heavy it really was.”

“She weaves me anew, sacred and true Naked to her strength, I hear anew I need not even seek her for, she is here with me. Infinite space, sacred hums where all returns to one. The truths revealed and the lessons unraveled Seeker of time, I need not even travel All is here, with this one sacred love, sacred embrace.”

“She went again and bought this car, too, from an antique dealer. He almost gave it away, saying it will never run again. It has the old days’ engine, the kind you don’t find in this era. A change of engines and batteries, a new set of all-terrain-tires, some safety trackers, sensors, and, well, a whole list of other things with 300% luck to make it run again through the Junk Land—the land outside the cities where it’s only ruins and rubble. Needs hard work, yes. But Kusha instantly liked the color of its body, the moment she saw it—a sort of green with greyish tint, and a good load of rust.”

“She went alone to the vast room where the second-hand clothes were kept. Later, she thought it the happiest hour of her life. There were silks and brocades by the yard, and pile upon pile of hats, wigs, cloaks, and masks. After two years in wretched rags, even the linen shifts felt as soft as thistledown. She whirled from one delight to another- clutching lace, burying her nose in furs, holding flashy paste jewels next to her new-bleached skin. Catching her reflected eye in the mirror she laughed out loud, her red mouth wide and knowing. She put aside a few carefully-chosen costumes and elbow-length mittens. Then, finally, she chose a few costumes of a particular nature: shiny satin, ebony black. Lastly, she gathered the garments she would wear for her journey: a grass-green woolen gown and a lace cap and apron. The effect was somewhat grand for a domestic servant. Her auburn locks were pinned tightly, her figure flattered by a frilled muslin kerchief, crisscrossed in an 'X' over her breast. Pulling out a few auburn tendrils from her cap, she adjusted her bodice to show a little more flesh. Then she grew very still, and smiled slowly into the empty space before her. "How do you do, sir," she said with a graceful curtsy. "Now, what pretty dish might you care for tonight?”

“She went around reading everything- the directions on the grits bag, Tate's notes, and the stories from her fairy-tale books she had pretended to read for years. Then one night she made a little oh sound, and took the old Bible from the shelf. Sitting at the table, she turned the thin pages carefully to the one with the family names. She found her own at the very bottom: There it was, her birthday: Miss Catherine Danielle Clark, October 10, 1945. Then, going back up the list, she read the real names of her brothers and sisters: Master Jeremy Andrew Clark, January 2, 1939. "Jeremy," she said out loud. "Jodie, I sure never thought a' you as Master Jeremy." Miss Amanda Margaret Clark, May 17, 1937. Kya touched the name with her fingers. Repeated it several times. She read on. Master Napier Murphy Clark, April 14, 1936. Kya spoke softly, "Murph, ya name was Napier." At the top, the oldest, Miss Mary Helen Clark, September 19, 1934. She rubbed her fingers over the names again, which brought faces before her eyes. They blurred, but she could see them all squeezed around the table eating stew, passing cornbread, even laughing some. She was ashamed that she had forgotten their names, but now that she'd found them, she would never let them go again. Above the list of children she read: Mister Jackson Henry Clark married Miss Julienne Maria Jacques, June 12, 1933. Not until that moment had she known her parents' proper names. She sat there for a few minutes with the Bible open on the table. Her family before her. Time ensures children never know their parents young. Kya would never see the handsome Jake swagger into an Asheville soda fountain in early 1930, where he spotted Maria Jacques, a beauty with black curls and red lips, visiting from New Orleans.”

“She went back to Shane and settles in on his lap again, arm around his neck. His circled her waist. "I thought you had to go," he said. "And don't think i didn't see you kissing on my best friend." "He deserved it." "Yeah. Maybe i ought to kiss him, too." Michael, on his way out, didn't bother to turn around for that one. "Oh sure, you always promise.”

“She went from one pair of arms to another, laughing and flirting. It was nothing short of grueling. She was aware of Tom's presence the entire time. And all the while, she was painfully aware that none of this was remotely comparable to that evening in the Clare winter garden, when Tom had waltzed her through shadows and moonlight as if on midnight wings. She'd never experienced that kind of ease, almost a rapture of movement, before or since. Her body still remembered the touch of his hands, so capable and gentle, guiding her without push or pull. So effortless.”

“She went on to explain Tom's proposition to write an agreement together, about the things they valued and needed, the compromises they would be willing to make, the lines that had to be drawn. "But it wouldn't be legal," Devon said. "I think," Kathleen ventured, "the point is that it shows Cassandra's thoughts and feelings matter to Mr. Severin." "It means he wants to listen to her," Phoebe added, "and take her opinions into consideration." "Diabolical bastard," West muttered, although the corner of his mouth twitched with rueful amusement.”

“She went on, “Yes, Porter and I did discuss divorce, and we realized we loved each other too much to do anything so silly.” “That’s got to be a comfort to you now,” I said. “I can imagine how painful it would be to have someone you care for die with a lot of unresolved --” “Yes!” she exclaimed. “That is exactly right!” She gave me an approving lashless gaze. “See, gay guys always understand these things!” “We’re born with that understanding gene,” I said.”

“She went out and took a last long look at the shabby little library. She knew she would never see it again. Eyes changed after they looked at new things. If in the years to be she were to come back, her new eyes might make everything seem different from the way she saw it now. The way it was now was the way she wanted to remember it.”

“She went out in the city with its lights like a radioactive phosphorescence, wandered through galleries where the high-priced art on the walls was the same as the graffiti scrawled outside by taggers who were arrested or killed for it, went to parties in hotel rooms where white-skinned, lingerie-clad rock stars had been staying the night their husbands shot themselves in the head, listened to music in nightclubs where stunning boyish actors had OD'd on the pavement.”

“She went to the church to sit in the cave of stone, filled with the voices of strangers. Murmurs coming through the air, bowling in the ceiling and sifting down with the speckled greens and blues, the deep dark red of the stained glass at the end of the nave. She sat in the hard wooden pew and waited for the hymns. And when the singing started, she could weep. She went to the church to open her mouth and feel her heart again, constricted, struggling, banging against her throat, the tears there in the place of words, her voice struggling out in the vast air, stopped by grief.”